


Forget The Plan (Apparently)

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Undercover as a Couple, a little homophobia, this is humor I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Bond and Q go undercover as a couple in order to get some information. Some creative problem solving takes place





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "invite me" from [this writing meme](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/172940956853/in-light-of-the-tag-craziness-lets-play-a-game), as requested by an anon on Tumblr. A two-parter, since someone requested a continuation and someone else sent another prompt
> 
> Originally posted here as part of a collection, which I've deleted; if you left kudos or a comment for that fic there, please know that I've saved them to look upon and cherish (also, thank you)

There is a midlevel drug runner in the next room accusing Bond of sleeping with his girl.

The truly amusing thing is that Bond honestly didn’t.

He’s been with Q the entire night, in view at the hotel bar while they kept a surreptitious eye on their mark. Eventually, they pretended to be tipsy and frisky (Q more the former and Bond more the latter) and returned to their room.

Certainly Bond had received an  _offer_  from the lady in question, but he had seemed content to remain in the room with Q. Q hadn’t wondered at that much at the time, and doesn’t feel inclined to do so now. Instead, he picks what seems the simplest course of action to get rid of their uninvited guest, and strips off his pajamas.

Bond and Q had both been on the verge of sleep, ensconced in the comfortable hotel bed (because they’re adults and can share a bed, there’s nothing strange or awkward or  _enticing_  about the idea, of course there isn’t), when the drug runner had come knocking (banging, really; terribly rude). Bond had left Q wrapped in the soft sheets and answered the door, only to be accused of an affair he, for once, had not participated in.

While Q is confident in Bond’s ability to handle the situation, he is less confident in Bond’s ability to handle the situation without things coming to blows. He does not want to deal with violence and shouting at 1:30 in the morning (or really ever, this is why he sticks to computers), and so chooses to provide Bond with a  _technically_  true alibi and trusts the rest will resolve itself.

Down to his pants, Q lays back against the pillows, tosses his head back and forth a couple of times, runs his hands up through it to grab a handful or two, and feels rather satisfied with his artificially manufactured sex hair. He bites hard at his lips and wets them with his tongue as he levers himself up from the bed; he doesn’t bother with his glasses, trusting (hoping) Bond will keep him from walking into anything (or anyone) lethal, and heads straight for the door separating the bedroom from the main room of the suite.

“James?” He calls as he pushes past the door, because Bond is a lazy bastard who can’t stick to covers to  _literally_  save his life and the only reason he’s even kept to the false surname is to avoid getting Q killed, “Are you coming back to bed?”

The argument ceases, Bond and the drug runner both turning to watch as Q drapes himself against the doorjamb and looks over at Bond in a manner he hopes is something close to seductive, rather than myopic and squinty. “I’ve been waiting for ages.” Q is now honest-to-god  _whining_ , and he really, really hopes this is all worth it.

“Just a moment, darling.” Bond’s regained his voice, and Q can’t quite see his face but he’s certain there’s some sort of grin on it, likely of the lecherous sort, “Why don’t you come over here and meet Mr. Andreas?”

Q hesitates, halfway between falsely coy and sincerely embarrassed, because he hadn’t been prepared to actually parade around in front of an honestly rather dangerous man looking as though he was waiting to be fucked (he means Mr. Andreas in this instance; not that Bond isn’t  _at least_  rather dangerous, but Q can’t say he wouldn’t find the situation rather more agreeable minus the criminal in the room). “I’m not really decent.” He demurs.

“Oh come now, it’s not as though you have anything he hasn’t seen before.” Bond cajoles.

Resisting the urge to scowl, Q pulls away from the doorjamb and crosses the room to where Bond has raised his arm so that Q might press himself against his side. Q does so, and there is definitely the beginning of a lecherous grin on Bond’s face.

This was a terrible plan and Bond is enjoying himself far too much.

“Mr. Andreas, this is my fiancé, David.” Bond’s hand slides around Q’s waist, curling there possessively.

“Pleasure.” Q sticks his hand out to shake, doing his best to look like the vacant ingénue he’s been cast as, the better to throw off any suspicion that he’s going to crack into one of the best protected computer systems in the criminal underworld.

Mr. Andreas, who has gone from outraged and accusatory to distinctly uncomfortable in 30 seconds flat, takes his hand in one of the most reluctant handshakes Q has ever been a part of.

“As you can see, we were rather in the middle of something,” Bond’s hand trails down further until he’s squeezing Q’s arse, and Q jumps but manages not to elbow Bond in the gut (but oh, there will be payback later), “So I really can’t have been with your companion, as I’ve been much too busy with  _mine_.”

“And I do wish you would come back to bed,” Q turns his head and nips (nips!) Bond’s earlobe, if only for the satisfaction of seeing the shiver run down Bond’s spine, “And finish what you started.”

Mr. Andreas makes a strangled noise and stumbles back towards the door. “I– apologize for the… interruption.” He leaves quickly, muttering decidedly derogatory things that make Q that much gladder the man will soon either be dead or behind bars.

Bond releases Q and locks the door. “Lovely plan; worked very nicely. A question, though, if I may.”

“If you must.” Q sighs.

“Was that a legitimate invitation?”

Q snorts and turns to go back to the bedroom, more than ready to get some sleep. “Bond, if we make it back to England alive, I’ll drag you to bed myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "get me" for [this writing meme](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/172940956853/in-light-of-the-tag-craziness-lets-play-a-game), as requested by an anon on Tumblr. The violence happens in this one; it's not much, but just in case. Also some derogatory language. Still supposed to be humor, though

There is a great ruckus happening outside the room. Q really hopes it means what he thinks it means.

It hadn’t taken long for the mission to go to shit once Bond and Q had split up (of course it hadn’t; never split up, that was the golden rule of everything ever). Things had  _seemed_  like they were going well, certainly, with Bond halfway across the sprawling cliffside house that the drug lord they were after called his base of operations (how original) and in contact via earwig while Q gained access to the computer systems to download as much information as possible in what little time they had, but when their connection cut out, it had become rather obvious something was wrong.

Q had disconnected and pulled his thumb drive just as the door burst open, admitting no less than three thugs (excessive) and Mr. Andreas, who looked entirely too pleased when he recognized Q.

Things had only gone downhill from there, culminating in Q’s refusal to answer any questions and an enthusiastic beating from Mr. Andreas. Q wishes for a moment that he’d accepted one of those thinly-veiled offers of “hand-to-hand training” from Bond; maybe he’d have actually learned something before they ended up shagging on the mat.

Although he isn’t altogether sure what he’s meant to do with his hands tied behind his back, in any case. Maybe Bond could have told him.

The ruckus, though – Mr. Andreas is hauling him up off the floor and putting a knife to his throat, so it probably means exactly what Q thinks it means; which is to say, Bond has found him and will be joining them presently.

Q offers no help in Mr. Andreas’ efforts to keep him upright; his hip hurts from landing on it hard, his ribs hurt from being kicked, his head hurts from any number of things, and he’s really not in the mood to cooperate. If Mr. Andreas wants a human shield, he’s going to have to work for it.

Mr. Andreas is still struggling with Q while Q does his best impression of a sack of potatoes when Bond bursts through the door. This prompts Mr. Andreas to yank Q’s bound arms up hard enough that he risks dislocation if he doesn’t take at least some weight off his shoulders, and so Q manages to put his feet more firmly beneath him, wincing as his sore muscles and bones protest.

“So glad you could join us, Mr. Bond.” Mr. Andreas croons, and of course he knows who Bond is, does no one care for goddamned secret identities?

“I could hardly refuse an invitation like this.” Bond replies; his gun stays steadily trained on Mr. Andreas, but his eyes sweep over Q.

There is nothing so unprofessional as actual  _concern_  in his eyes, but the fact that he’s looked away from his target at all is telling. Q knows he must look a sight—roughed up, bloody, bruised, sagging slightly against Mr. Andreas—but he does his best to meet Bond’s eyes. He trusts Bond to get him out of this. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that this is probably a poor choice; Bond’s record with keeping people alive is spotty at best, and yet Q still finds himself trusting his agent entirely.)

“Yes, we found your little whore digging into our computer system.” Mr. Andreas sneers, and that’s just uncalled for, really; he and Bond were meant to be engaged, how does that make him a whore? Q doesn’t quite have the energy to point this out to Mr. Andreas, and instead manages to spit to the side at his feet (this has the dual purpose of showing his displeasure and getting some of the blood out of his mouth; bloody noses are a bloody bother). Mr. Andreas pays him no mind. “We haven’t even begun to show him what happens to people who meddle in our business. And now that you are here, you can watch the proceedings.”

“No,” Bond says evenly, “I don’t think I will.”

He shoots.

Both Q and Mr. Andreas go down, and Bond is on them in an instant, disentangling Q from what is now just a dead body, cutting his ties and helping him upright. The knife that had been held to his throat had sliced the underside of Q’s jaw as Mr. Andreas jerked and fell, but it's shallow and hardly worth any fuss. Bond has his handkerchief out and pressed against the cut already. “Are you alright?” He asks, and Q is certain he doesn’t mean for his voice to sound as gentle as it does.

“Perfect.” Q grits out.

“Good.” Bond runs a hand over Q’s hair, something like petting him, and Q would be terribly offended if it didn’t feel so terribly  _nice_ , “We’ll get you back to England in one piece yet, so you can drag me to bed.”

Half a gurgling snort of laughter comes through Q’s now-probably-crooked nose, an action which Q regrets immensely, and he accepts Bond’s hand up. “I’m hardly in a position to do much dragging.”

Bond steadies Q when he wavers slightly on his feet. “Suppose I could do the dragging, then. Can you walk?”

“Well you’re not bloody well carrying me.” Q grouses, though he doesn’t shake off the hand Bond’s got on his arm.

“I bloody well will if you don’t move fast enough.” Bond replies, and it’s not a threat, but a fact.

Only at the last minute does Q remember that– “Wait!” He ducks out of Bond’s hold and stumbles back over to Mr. Andreas’ body. He shoves a hand into the dead man’s jacket pocket, much too numb at this point to really think about the fact that it’s a dead man’s jacket pocket, and extracts the thumb drive that had been confiscated from Q when they took him.

Bond offers him a look that sits somewhere between pride and amusement, or maybe it’s something else altogether; Q’s never been particularly good with facial expressions, and a couple of blows to the head hasn’t helped matters. He pockets the drive and allows Bond to guide him from the base, confident in the knowledge that, while he’s not as his best, Bond will be looking out for him the whole way.

And also that, as soon as everything stops hurting so much, Q will definitely drag him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/173114789778/can-you-do-get-me-for-the-prompt-meme-and-as-much)

**Author's Note:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/173032121148/invite-me-bondq-excited-to-read-it)


End file.
